There Tossed Violently to the Winds
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: He is no longer screaming himself hoarse, calling out his names to the skies beyond again and again in a desperate attempt to retain what is already so lost. Bruce Banner learns a new balance within himself following the New York Incident. One-shot. Post-Avengers.


**There Tossed Violently to the Winds**

**Bruce Banner's long nights following the New York incident.**

**DISCLAIMER: Marvel owns these characters. Not me. **

**-XXX-**

The other guy had been bottled up for so long that when Bruce finally had a moment to take pause, he was forced to have a Great Internal Reckoning. There, in the shawarma shop, sitting among new friends, the doctor had his first few seconds of peace. Their afternoon had been dominated by attempts to regroup, contact SHIELD, organize the city's PD, engage the National Guard to explain the circumstances, then briefly supervise the cleaning efforts. Tony and Steve took up these tasks, leadership being their natural forte. The others – Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Bruce – hung back.

Bruce hadn't released his form for a good long while after Tony was revived. Once he had there were not clothes at hand, so he spent the better part of the evening wearing Thor's slightly-charred cape as a toga. Clint teased lightly, Nat's eyes glowed with light humor, though she did not speak. Had Tony not been occupied, the doctor had no doubt that the man would be rather wry about the situation.

As silence claimed the group huddled in the middle of the shop, each Avenger licking their wounds, Bruce fell into his own mind, into the dark recesses where his otherself waited with patience. The other guy was calm, quieted by his pride – he had done well in the course of the day. He had found balance.

At long last.

Natasha's pensive glaze was on the nearest wall. Clint looked at her, Steve at his food, Thor the world around. There was a short sort of tension around Tony, who looked weary as he chewed with little regard for neatness. Bruce looked at them all. The other guy, in the back of his mind, grunted at the sight of each, noting his companions. _"Recognition," _the doctor noted. Hulk now saw the team properly, as it was – a team.

That gave the doctor a sliver of hope. If the other guy could see teammate where there were once opponents, progress was being made.

In his mind, the beast shifted. Bruce could feel a single thought ring through with clarity, a feeling more so than words. _"Tired."_

Yes, tired. He was certainly tired. As Tony put it, turning into a giant green rage monster took a lot out of a guy. Especially if it occurred twice in one day. His energy reserves were so low. Following the final battle in Stark Tower, Bruce's transformation back to a humble scientist had left him so weary he'd passed out as soon as he was in the realm of six feet. They let him lie while Thor and Tony took over the process of restraining the broken Asgardian god.

So far in the meal, Bruce had about twelve pita and seven glasses of coke, along with three baskets of fries. The others looked at him with wide eyes, but they could not be too incredulous when Thor nearly topped him on shawarma consumption. It was, the god said sadly, a true pity the establishment did not also serve mead, as the drink would have surely increased his appetite. Bruce entirely agreed. Tony smirked, then assured the "big guy" (Bruce couldn't be sure if this was aimed at him or Thor) that there was plenty to drink back at the Tower.

The Tower. Bruce was not sure how he could handle a night there, or many nights. Tony had invited everyone to set up camp as the Helicarrier was still in shop – no thanks to Bruce.

Would staying thousands of feet in the air, in a glass-and-steel structure, housed in with others he truly cared about be a good idea? Or even a feasible option?

The other guy was tired. Bruce had to believe he would stay cooped up for at least the remainder of the evening. He accepted the risk.

For a good deal of the night, Bruce Banner sat on the balcony of Stark Tower to observe the chaos of the city below and the building supporting him. All but the _"A" _of STARK had fallen. Glass was strewn about the granite tiles. The evidence of the Hulk's rage against the "puny god" lay about. Then the city – still misted with smoke, parts roaring with flames, crumbled stone and concrete littering the streets beside smashed cars and broken streetlights. It was a site. A city in ruin.

Clint sits beside him, as well as a brooding Thor. They wait for sleep…for peace given by the reassurance of time….for confirmation of another start. Of dawn. Of days coming. The men are silent. It's not a bad thing – in fact, Dr. Banner is grateful for it. He knows not what to say. Not even where to begin. All have bee touched on this day.

He sleeps when the sun rises. And the new day appears to pass around him.

The next night he is on his own. Sleep simply will not come. The other guy rumbles in the back of his head. He is – dare Bruce say it – melancholy. Being here, back in the country reminds him of the _before, _a time preceding India, the experiment. It also leads him to recall, most vividly, Betty.

But the thought is quickly banished.

Still, the other guy isn't happy. He's agitated. After being allowed so much freedom over the course of two days, he's frustrated by the chains of Bruce's mind again. The doctor subdues the urges with bitten lips, clenched fists, tight muscles, along with naps and petty distractions of television. But when night comes, he's got to find another outlet. The doctor cannot be submerged in repression. Standing on the balcony, he delves into the deepest parts of himself.

_"Wanna go for a walk?"_

Before, under such circumstances, Bruce felt as though he was standing on the edge of a cliff, shouting his name again and again to the winds, the sky, the powers that be, all in an effort to remember himself. Remember what he was, truly. Remember Bruce Banner. To push away the dark that crept in the abysses within himself he'd prefer to ignore. No matter how many times he might scream, the sound was tossed upon the unkind winds, the effort in vain, hopes ignored. And then the creature came.

They decide upon the edge of the river – dark, secluded, away from the lights of the city. He carefully folds his clothes into a pile inside the car. The keys sit beneath a rock a ways away. Taking a few breaths, Bruce releases himself to the beast's hold.

They don't do much besides walk. At one point, the monster even lowers himself to lie on the muddy bank. This startles Bruce – apparently all the creature wanted was to be out. Not to destroy anything, or break bones. Just to live in his own skin for a bit without regard for anything. It's a little endearing, honestly. The doctor notes this curiosity. Perhaps, with this, they might be allowed out more often. In insolated areas, of course. He might even ask Nat or Clint to join him, for security reasons.

Yes, their walk did very nicely. Doctor Banner release anger and inhibitions for a while, while the other guy stretched his legs and appreciated the cool night air on his stony skin. Nothing touched them, save the wind and the night. All fears falling apart, the creatures faced one another as an entire pair, a coin in full, without hesitation or malice.

Never before had he been at peace with his two sides. They warred always. Often without intent, the shy scientist and the beast fought for control, letting it come only in moments of intense needs. Following this…The New York Incident, as SHIELD was already calling it…maybe they could find a balance. An understanding. Perhaps…perhaps….

When the big guy was done, he downsized near the car, leaving a weary Bruce to stumble to gather his clothes, then dress with fumbling fingers. In the darkness, he leaned against the cool surface of the vehicle, tilted his head up to peer into the dusky sky above. Even though he was miles from the violent blaze of the city, the stars were still so faint. The great expanse above was not black, as it would be in India, but a vague purple. Another thing to adapt to. There seemed to be an ever-growing list. Especially considering the recent circumstances.

Maybe…if things went well…he might try to again contact Betty. Or anyone from _before. _Bruce Banner would never again have his old life back. But, at the very least, he might someday possess a shadow of it. Something.

Now receded to the recesses of his tempered mind, the beast made a contented sound. And Bruce, in the darkness, alone, at peace, on the edge of a city that shall always evolve, smiled slowly to himself. He was no longer tossing his name toward the winds.

**-XXX-**

**Someone requested I write Bruce. I do like him quite a bit, and I've enjoyed writing him before. This wasn't quite satisfying, so I'm probably going to attempt a small series piece. **

**If you're a Thor/Avengers fan and enjoyed this piece feel free to check out my others, I've written a number in the fandom.**

**Reviews would be lovely! **


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